As he stood for a moment, stretching his spine before he folded himself back into the Smart car, his gaze fell on the black Tahoe that was pulling into the gas station across the street. The Tahoe didn’t stop at the pumps, but drove around the side of the station, out of sight. Same color and body style as the one that had been parked on the street outside the studio’s high-rise.
Grayson watched for another minute, but the Tahoe didn’t reappear.
After a long moment, Grayson got back in the car. He pulled back out onto the rural highway, heading off through the evergreens with their light dusting of snow.
After three or so miles, he checked his rearview mirror.
A black Tahoe was behind him, matching his speed.
Gretel hadn’t lied to Jamey; she did meet with her family’s lawyer. For all of twenty minutes, long enough for Mr. Carrollton to tell her that she’d inherited every last dime, and then, when she’d mentioned the police didn’t want to hear her theories,he’d gently suggested that she should let the police do their job, and wasn’t it time to put her own projects aside and focus on the real work of AMI, like her dad would have wanted?
She hadn’t been able to get out of there fast enough.
Now she sat on a leather couch on the eighteenth floor of Stone Solutions, in a former conference room that had been temporarily transformed into an office suite. The windows framed Mount Rainier, the light snow lending a softness to the view. It was awe-inspiring enough it could have maybe granted her racing thoughts a second of peace.
If she weren’t sharing the office with Stone Solutions’ media director.
“—my condolences about your father: He was a great man, and of course everyone’s so curious who’s going to fill his shoes,” Anthony, the director, went on, apparently oblivious to Gretel’s grinding teeth. “Your blog has always been one of AMI’s best publications, and naturally this sad event will mean your readership will only increase. It’s really going to be all eyes onyounow, and if you were to, say, write an article that was, say, endorsing a particular senator, well, I’m sure everyone would be reading. We’re backing Senator Braun to take up Hannah Hathaway’s anti-empathy mantle now, you know, and it just feels like you’re uniquely positioned to use this tragedy to shine a light in dark places—perhaps it’s even what your father would have wanted—”
Gretel’s fingers tightened on her coffee cup.
“Anthony.” That was Vivian Marist’s voice, breaking in and finally stopping him. Marist was stepping around the couch, closer to Gretel’s side. “Have someone get Ms. Macy another coffee, won’t you?” Her voice was friendly but with a note of steel.
Gretel’s coffee cup was still mostly full. But Anthony was already scrambling up to his feet. “Yes, of course.”
The office door opened and then shut somewhere behind Gretel as Marist took a seat at her side on the leather sofa, the embodiment of feminine corporate chic from her pumps to her smooth French twist to the softest hint of perfume. “How are you holding up?” she asked, her voice much kinder.
Gretel set her coffee cup on the coffee table. “I’m not,” she said flatly, too tired to mask and find something more socially acceptable to say.
Marist gave her a sad smile. “I’m sorry. I considered both of your parents my friends. It’s a great loss.”
She sounded sincere enough, but it didn’t help Gretel get answers. “The police won’t let me see my parents,” she said, watching Marist. “I wish someone would tell me more about what happened to them.”
“Murder is such a terrible, shocking crime,” Marist said, which was true and also completely evasive. “And I’m sure you must be going mad with all the bureaucracy around the investigation. You’ve obviously got a sharp mind—it’s evident in all your writing.”
Marist picked up the coffee cup and pressed it back into Gretel’s hands. “I read your blog, you know,” she added.
What a neat little trick, turning the topic right back to Gretel. “I talked to our family lawyer today,” Gretel said. “Mr. Carrollton was sympathetic, of course, but he said I should just listen to the police. What a strange answer from a lawyer to their client, don’t you think?”
“I’m afraid I’ve never known much about criminal law,” Marist said.
“I think you probably know Carrollton, though,” Gretel said. “He used to be Stone Solutions’ general counsel.”
“It’s such a small world around the empaths,” Marist said with a rueful smile. “As you well know, of course:Eyes on Empathshas always been a key player.”
It should have made Gretel proud to hear Marist praise the blog she’d worked so hard to build, to be included in the elite circle with AMI and Stone Solutions. But it felt hollow compared to Jamey’s sympathetic hugs and warm mugs of tea, her concern that Gretel have a safe place to stay and her promises to help.
“Have you thought about your own future role with AMI?” Marist asked. “All your members are looking for guidance now. They know you and trust you. And of course, AMI and Stone Solutions have always had such a close relationship.”
Gretel was pretty sure close relationships weren’t supposed to end inmurder. She set her mug back down. “So are you the official CEO now?”
Marist shook her head. “I’m simply holding down the fort for Cedrick,” she said, and if she had ambitions beyond that, she hid it perfectly.
“But the board of directors could make you CEO, right?” Gretel said. “Except, of course, Charles Stone just came out of retirement.”
“Where did you hear that?” Marist said with a tiny bit more of an edge.
“I like to stay informed,” Gretel said politely, because Marist wasn’t the only one who could give bullshit nonanswers. “Is he going to be running Stone Solutions?”
